Broken yet Still Breathing
by MrsBiteMe
Summary: Personal tragedy has pushed Bella into a downward spiral of self destruction & she is barely hanging on to her sanity ... and her life. A story of loss, love, and healing. Rated M. E/B. AH.
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own Twilight._

_**An: **__This was original written as part of the Fandom for Preemies compilation. Thank you to those who donated. As a mother of a former preemie, your support is more appreciated._

_I'm trying something a bit different with this story, going perhaps a little on the dark side. I will touch on some topics that may be sensitive to some, primarily alcoholism. I hope you enjoy. _

_*Now revised as of 1/12/12*_

Broken yet Still Breathing: Prologue

They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die, but of one thing I was certain – mine did not. As I laid there, cheek pressed to the cool pavement, there was no movie reel of memories or quick-changing mental images. I couldn't even think in that moment.

Instead, I felt.

An overwhelming sense of peace and finality bloomed from deep within and spread throughout my body like wildfire, releasing me from my ever-consuming guilt. It was the most free I'd felt in years, and I reveled in it in my final moments.

When I felt my heartbeat slow, a stuttered staccato replacing the once steady rhythm, I braced myself for images that would never come.

So, no, I didn't see my life flash before my eyes before I died, and for that - I was grateful.

**BYSB**

There's crunching, screeching, metal on metal, and then there's nothing.

An eerie silence settles all around me. It feels like the calm before the storm, and that is the scariest feeling of all. I'm not sure what has happened, yet somehow, it is all quite familiar. I try to remember, but I the memories are buried deep in a place I cannot touch.

Trying to move proves futile because I cannot feel a thing. It is as if my mind as severed itself from the rest of my body. There is no numbness, no tingling sensations to be felt in my fingers or toes … just, _nothing._

_Have I finally succeeded in death? _I wonder.

It feels as if I have been abandoned on a deserted island without even the waves to calm my anxious nerves. Darkness is all that I know at this point, all that I see or feel_, _and even _his _voice has gone silent; though I sense his presence nearby, surrounding me.

I want to reach out, but I can't.

_Help me._

I silently plea, _beg, _that someone comes to my aid. I don't mind death so much, but the blackened silence I am living in now frightens me greatly.

It is as if time has stopped, and I can no longer know how long it's been since I was last in touch with reality. _Has it been days? Weeks? Mere minutes? _I can't be sure.

However much time has passed is irrelevant because it feels like an eternity. But then it happens – a quiet, muffled sound that gets gradually louder, and then it's as if someone has answered my plea because my hearing returns.

I want to physically cringe away when it does because there is nothing but chaos all around me. The scraping sounds of metal from earlier have returned, though now they are intermingled with blaring sirens and a shrill, high-pitched wail.

It takes a moment to realize, but then softer, so close to me, there is a voice. Though it is not the one I crave, it lets me know that someone is here, with me, so I hold onto the sound. I know they are trying to tell me something, but each word sounds as if it is being spoken under water.

I concentrate harder, knowing these words are important, but the effort brings forth no result. My mouth tries to form a response, to try to tell them that I can't hear what they're saying, but my lips refusing to cooperate.

I say nothing and allow the muffled sound of the voice to fall into the background of noise.

Instead, I wonder again where I am. My memory is hazy and dark, and I do not recall how I ended up in such a state. My thoughts are cut short, however, when a sudden coldness begins to creep its way through my body, chilling my veins with its icy grip.

As the icy feeling dances across my spine a shudder wracks my body. It is immediately followed by a sudden surge of pain, and I am taken by surprise. Somehow, my mind and body have reconnected, and it feels as if I am being ripped apart from the inside out.

Agonizing cries pour out of me as I squeeze my eyes shut and wince. Pain, however, is not new to me, and I have other things to worry about, other thoughts forcing their way into my consciousness.

_Where is he? _

I'm filled with a sudden panic. I have to open my eyes and find him, but I have yet to regain my sight.

Fissions of jagged, fiery pain lick their way from my toes to the tips of my fingers when I attempt to turn my neck. It is unlike anything I have ever felt before, and the only thing I can do is bite down on the inside of my cheek as hard as I can; it is only a matter of seconds before the coopery taste of blood fills my mouth.

The fire is over almost as quickly as it began, but the numbness has returned. Again, I am still.

Different than last time is that my hearing remains, though still garbled. Even better is that my vision begins to move from complete blackness to a clouded, hazy light. The sensation is similar to if I was searching my way through the dark with only a nightlight to guide me on my journey.

I am unable to focus on the blurred, darkened shapes moving around me; the ones I can see anyway because my cheek is flat against a cool surface I can only assume to be pavement, and I am still unable to move. It makes my head throb like a thousand beating drums to keep my eyes open, but somehow I know I must.

Sirens grow louder, and I try to focus on them. I try to remember how I ended up in this dreadful place.

But I can't.

This single thought is more terrifying than anything else that has happened.

_Save me. _

_Save us._

The sounds around me shift then, and one rises above the rest, very close to my ears. It is loud, high-pitched, and never-ending. I want to make it stop, to scream for it to shut-up, because it's not helping to cease the beating drums playing a rhythm in my head.

It takes only a handful of seconds to realize that the sound is me. My body may be in a numb-like state, but my mind is not. I cannot feel the physical pain, but the emotional pain cannot be pushed away.

I do my best to quiet myself, knowing that screaming will do me more harm than good. I must save my strength if I am to find him. To save him.

The relative silence is most welcome.

Finger tips brush my arm. I am ecstatic that I can feel them touching me, even if it means some of the pain has returned. Their hands touch my arm, my face, and then a light is shining in my eyes. I think for a second that it's _him_, that he's okay, but something reminds me that can't be right.

I see no one but the light, and the garbled sound that must be their voice irritates me because I still can't hear them.

Blurring flashes of red and blue lights blind me further; shapes that had begun to take form dissolve in a haze, their shadows washed away by the light.

Somewhere, somehow, it finally registers that whoever is touching me is trying to help me, to save my life. But it's not me that needs saving, it's him. I try to scream for them to help him, to leave me be - let me go, but I can't form the words, only moans.

_Someone please, help him … he will die, let me go … help him_.

A dark shadow shifts in front of the light until I can make out a form. A man.

But then the familiar darkness I am coming to know so well slips in, unwanted, and pulls me under. It threatens to consume me_. Perhaps I was under water after all, slowly drowning …_

His voice taunts me, sounding clear among the garbled voices, _"I'll drive." _

I want to claw my way back to the surface, to find him, but it is too late, and I can tell that I'm already gone.

_**An: **__Don't say I didn't warn you it'd be dark. Leave a review to let me know your thoughts?_


	2. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own Twilight. I just like playing with the characters, enjoy._

_**An: **__I plan to finish my story, Fate, before I continue with this, but I hope you enjoy what I've written so far in the meantime. The ever lovely __**Buff82 **__beta'd this._

"_Sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just being alive is a good thing." – Agatha Christie_

Broken yet Still Breathing: Chapter 1

When I was five I told my mom I wanted to join the circus. At ten I was going to be a fairy princess, and, yet, at fifteen I'd decided to be a writer. How I went from circus freak to novelist, I'd never know, but sadly, at the age of 23, I had accomplished none of those things. It somehow made me grateful that my mother was not around to watch me with disappointment in her eyes.

It had already been five years since her death, the night I often referred to as the beginning of the end. Or you could call it the night that my father phoned to tell me of her accident, only a month after I had moved from my home town of Forks to Seattle; she had been on her way for a surprise visit.

Her absence from my life, while greatly upsetting, was not what eventually made me the person I had become—a failure. No, the credit for that lay with a man who meant more to me than my own life ever could. He was my fellow circus performer, the prince to my princess, and the hero of my stories.

It would be a fairytale to say that he'd gone on to be something great, that he'd made a difference in the lives of many. And, while I know he affected those around him in indescribable ways, he never had the chance to show everyone the wonderful man he really was. He was gone, never to find and achieve his dreams, and it had all been my fault.

Memories of that night flashed behind my eyes—the look on his face, the blood, the screams.

I shot up in bed, the sound of my shrill voice piercing the peace of early morning. The sound stopped as I gasped for breath, my hand clutching at my chest as my heartbeat thrummed away in excessive speed. It took me several moments to calm down, just as it did every morning, and I knew there was no going back to sleep.

Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was just after six a.m., and I groaned in frustration that I had yet to wake up at a reasonable hour over the last several months. The nightmares prevented me from acquiring the sleep I so desperately needed.

I threw the covers off my now sweating and sticky body, craving aspirin for my forming headache.

I also needed a damn drink.

Stumbling my way to the kitchen, I rubbed at my eyes as remnants of my dreams, or rather – memories - threatened to break into my consciousness. It was always like that after I'd woken up, and I knew I'd need something to calm myself down soon.

Popping two little white tablets into my mouth, I quickly spotted my favorite drink on the coffee table, and snatched up the half empty bottle, drinking a generous amount of the bitter liquid. The burn that coated my throat was instantaneous, and I relished in the feeling of the pain. I deserved worse - _much_ worse, but I would take any form of pain that was thrown at me.

The warmth of the alcohol flooded throughout my body as it coursed through my veins, creating a false sense of numbness that I relished - my ever present buzz a welcoming side-affect. I wasn't drunk enough to make the thoughts stop invading my mind, however, and they beat at me, unwanted, and completely relentless.

It was my fault, after all, that he was gone. My fault his family would never see him again, get to tell him how much they loved him. My fault that he'd never have a future to plan and look forward to. So, yes, I deserved worse than any emotional pain a few memories might inflict upon me.

Flopping down on the couch, I flipped on the TV, bottle still in hand. The news program informed me it was Monday, and there were only three more days until Thanksgiving. I realized I had yet to make any effort to call my father; it was still too hard to speak to Charlie, there was no way he could ever forgive me for what I'd done.

A knock on my door broke me from my thoughts, and I growled at the interruption. _Who the hell is here this early in the morning? _I asked myself, irritated. Looking at the clock on the wall I realized I had been sitting there for four hours already.

The bottle was now empty.

My thoughts turned more frustrated, knowing that _someone _was bothering me, mid-morning, on a Monday. _They just didn't get the point. What part of 'leave me the fuck alone' did they not understand? _

The knock sounded again -more insistent than the first time, and I stood, swaying slightly on my feet from both the sudden movement and the abundance of alcohol in my system. "I'm coming," I called out in the direction of the door, my somewhat drunken self, giggling at the unintentional innuendo of my words.

I grasped the side table for support, swiping another half-open bottle as I walked around the couch, the room still shifting around in my vision with each step I took. _Perhaps I drank more than I thought, _I mused.

When I reached the door I tightened my grip on the bottle of tequila in my left hand. I had half a mind of who it might be, so I shrugged my shoulders, knowing the situation could be easily handled, and opened the door anyway. The piercing violet eyes of my _friend _stared back at me, surprised, fist poised as if ready to knock again.

I watched her eyes shift from my face, down to my hand where I clutched onto the bottle tightly, bringing it to my chest and caressing it with my other hand as if she might actually try to pry my liquid companion from my fingers. _Over. My. Dead. Body._

Concerned eyes found mine again, eyebrow quirked, her expression stern, though she had yet to say a word. My eyes remained unblinking as I stared back at her, my buzz allowing me to remain immune to her intimidating stance. "Well, I see you're doing better," she muttered sarcastically when I didn't speak. I rolled my eyes.

An annoying tapping sound made its way to my ears, and I glanced around erratically, irritated by the noise. It was then that I realized it was her foot pounding against the floor impatiently, waiting for me to step aside and invite her in.

"Gee, Rose, why don't you come inside," I bit out, my voice cold and cruel towards my once closest friend. She had never been, nor would she ever be my _best _friend—that was what _he _was. He would always hold that title.

She shot me a scathing glare as she strode in past me, and I recoiled slightly in response, slamming the door shut behind her. Ignoring her presence in my apartment, I walked around her and reclaimed my seat on the couch. My feet were propped up on the coffee table, the low music I'd turned on earlier playing in the background. I sighed, closing my eyes, and took another sip of burning liquid.

My entire body relaxed, welcoming the blissful haze that kept the memories at bay. I could feel myself starting to nod off when someone cleared their throat, and I suddenly remembered that I had company. I poked one eye open, squinting in Rosalie's direction, but she was still gazing around the room with wide eyes. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was staring at, I knew my place was a mess. Take out boxes littered most surfaces, laundry all over the floor, empty bottles lined up along the counter.

"Wow…," She let out a low whistle, eyes landing finally settling on me. "When was the last time you cleaned up around here?" Not allowing myself to squirm under her questioning stare, I lifted my chin up defiantly.

"There's nothing wrong with my apartment. If you don't like it, you know where the door is." Once again my words were cold and harsh, but I reminded myself it was for her own good. I was keeping her from getting too close, from getting hurt.

I heard her scoff, but I chose to ignore it. The continued buzz the alcohol was giving mewas much more pleasant than the idea of putting my energy into arguing with her. "What do you want Rose?" I finally asked after a few moments of silence. She still hadn't moved from her standing position at the edge of the living room. I would have invited her to sit down, but I really didn't want to give her the invitation to stay longer than she already had.

"You smell," she stated simply. "Actually, this entire place smells." Her nose wrinkled in disgust, and I chuckled a little. It was hollow and bitter sounding, even to my own ears.

I let my eyes slide closed again, essentially telling her the conversation was over – she apparently didn't get the memo. I felt, rather than heard, her stepping closer. I groaned, knowing she wouldn't allow herself to be dismissed so easily. Bringing the bottle in my hand to my mouth I tipped it back, ready to receive more of my liquid courage. My eyes flew open, however, as the bottle was roughly ripped from my hand.

"Rose!" I shouted, half-drunk and pissed as hell. She merely gave me her, "Don't fuck with me" stare – she was pretty good at that. Instead of fighting an uphill battle against her, I opted to go find something else to drink. There had to be something else here other than nasty, stale tequila. _The kitchen …_ I thought to myself, _that's where I keep the good stuff._ I stood, hoping to make my escape, but sadly, Rose followed me, this time letting her words flow freely.

"Bella, listen to me, you can't keep doing this to yourself. I mean, look at you!" My not-so-best friend,Rosalie, stood across from me, only separated by my small, kitchenette counter, waving her hand in a gesture that indicated she was eyeing my apartment with distain. Her voice softened as she continued, "You're wasting away."

Without response I continued searching through cabinets, bending down to glance in one before frowning when I didn't find what I was looking for, and then slamming the door shut. Apparently I'd gone through my stash of goodies much faster than I had thought. I stood, taking the few steps towards the remaining cabinet, the only one I had yet to search, but this time my Cheshire grin gave away my victory.

Vodka.

It wasn't the good stuff, but it was plenty good enough. Quickly twisting off the cap I lifted the familiar bottle to my lips, feeling the intoxicating liquid pour into my mouth and a pleasant burn coated the back of my throat. With my second gulp I tossed back a couple aspirin; my head was killing me, again.

"Are you even listening to me?" Rose shouted, the shrill sound gathering my attention momentarily. My head continued to drum on, my vision hazy from the drug and alcohol cocktail I'd just taken.

I faced my friend, the only one who ever bothered to visit anymore, trying my best to focus on her face. "What?" I asked, blinking my eyes as she continued to stare at me, mouth agape as if ready to speak.

Taking another swig, I waited for Rose to respond, but her mouth merely snapped shut, her expression stern. "You know what? Don't even worry about it." I drunkenly watched as she gathered her things, slinging her purse onto her shoulder. "See you Bella."

The door echoed with a resounding click as she left. If I had been sober, I would've caught her pained expression and the tears in her eyes.


	3. Black Out

_**Disclaimer: **__SM owns all, but the plot is mine, so please don't steal. It's not polite._

_**An: **__Beta'd by __**Buff82**__. She's also responsible for a piece of the storyline. Not telling which part, but you'll love her for it – promise._

_I'm still finishing up my other story before focusing entirely on this one, but I hope you enjoy this random update nonetheless. Please remember this story deals heavily with alcoholism, and it may not be suitable for all readers. If you continue to read on, then I hope you enjoy._

Chapter 2: Black Out

I try not to be affected by Rosalie's impromptu visit and then abrupt departure, but somehow I find myself shaken. She is the strongest person I know, and while I try to feel some satisfaction that I have finally succeeded in pushing her away, all I feel is emptiness.

There are so many things wrong in my life, I am aware; I don't need someone to point them out to me. I drink too much, spending each day locked in my apartment with a bottle of booze as I try to drown the memories that haunt me.

Every day is a challenge just to be alive, but I can't do anything more than make sure I wake each day, breathing, and knowing that he cannot. His face is particularly vivid in my mind this evening, and I know it's because of seeing Rosalie. She reminds me of my life before, and I hate her for it though it's not her fault.

It's mine.

I can't dwell on thoughts of her for long, however. My phone rings merely minutes after she has left, but I lack the energy to answer it. I've had enough of family and friends for the day. Hell, for the week even. The machine picks up after four rings and my father's gruff voice echoes throughout the small apartment.

"Bells? It's Dad. Look, I know you don't want … I know it's hard … I was just hoping you'd come home this weekend. You know, for Thanksgiving and all. Anyway, call me back. I love you kiddo."

It beeps as he hangs up, and tears prick my eyes at the sound of his voice. I miss him, but I know I can't go see him. He only asks because he feels he has to.

My chest aches with the thought, and I know I am in for a rough night. Whenever I have a run-in with my past, the hours following it are my worst. Between Rosalie's visit and Charlie's phone call, I could only imagine the repercussions in store for me.

I have a couple hours before I need to head out, so I resume my placement on the couch. The routine is familiar to me.

*BYSB*

When I do finally head out it is to my usual place, a bar on the corner just two blocks away. I walk there every night at eight.

This is also part of my routine.

Alec, the bartender, knows me well and already has my glass of beer and platter of chicken wings waiting on the bar when I come in.

"Rough day?" He asks when I slump down on the stool and immediately take a large gulp of my drink.

"You could say that," I answer gruffly.

Alec ignores me and returns to serving the other patrons at his bar. It's the way we are. He serves me, and I sit quietly and ignore everyone around me.

Tonight, however, I watch him as he works. I'm not feeling sociable, but I find myself thinking about Alec more than usual. We have our system – one I put in place, but I hardly ever stop and consider his feelings.

Alec isn't a small man by any means. He's tall, muscular, and resembles more of a bouncer at a club than a bartender in a pub. He's also extremely looking – blue eyes, dark hair, beautiful smile.

It is obvious that he's several years older than I am, but there's a youthful quality to his face that makes him appear slightly younger.

Part of me wishes I could feel _something _towards him. Sex is easy; it's a purely physical thing.

I can stay completely out of my head and fool my body into enjoying it for long enough to preoccupy myself. And Alec, well he's always more than willing. On a normal night I'd take him home with me, fuck him until I couldn't think anymore, and then pass out.

And he'd let me, even though he knows that's all he'll ever get out of me. Even though deep down I know he wants more. He told me once he'll take what he can get. But does that make me – that I take so much without care?

Just another selfish mark on my soul I suppose.

"Want another one Bella?"

I jump when I hear Alec's voice, having been so busy thinking that I didn't realize how close he'd gotten.

"Yeah, keep them coming."

He eyes me skeptically, but refills my drink anyway. "I'll never figure out how such a small girl can hold her liquor like you can," he laughs out as he pours.

I snort. "I'm just amazing like that I guess."

"I guess you are."

The smile he gives me as he says this is familiar, but I'm not in the mood tonight. Even his fabulous tongue and unforgiving hips aren't enough to distract me right now.

He's wiping down the bar top in front of me though I know it's already clean.

"Would you like to get a drink together sometime? You know, somewhere other than here and where I'm not the one serving you."

The way he purrs _serving you _indicates an underlying message and I frown without meaning to, but it's an involuntary reaction. I see his smile drop the minute he notices.

"It's okay, you don't have to, really. I shouldn't have asked," he begins to backpedal.

Wanting to put the poor man out of his misery I blurt the first thing I think of.

"It's not you, it's me."

Then I have to mentally roll my eyes at myself because that's such an idiotic response. I can see that Alec is giving me that "are you kidding me" look because he knows that answer was such bullshit.

"What I mean is … What I mean is I'm fucked up Alec. You know that, I just can't …" I trail, my voice fading into the tall beer glass between my fingers.

My further elaborated response seems to bring some relief to poor Alec, but he still saunters off and doesn't return to my end of the bar except to ensure my drink is never empty.

Typically I do not drink more than a few beers and maybe a shot when I come here. This is mostly because I know Alec would never let me, but also because this is the place I go for food. I hate cooking for just myself, and it's not like I could stay sober long enough to make food and not burn myself anyway.

So, instead, I come here every evening to ensure I have one warm meal in my system each day.

It may not be perfect, but it's something.

Tonight, however, Alec seems to be distracted and doesn't watch my drink intake as closely as usual. I'm also feeling extra bitter about Rosalie's impromptu visit earlier and therefore I don't care how much I drink.

I've gotten pretty good at being a functioning drunk (cause I'm not an alcoholic). Sometimes, I'm almost positive no one knows. I'm pretty sneaky about it all, unless you're someone like Rosalie who can't mind their own damn business.

I giggle to myself as I munch on my chicken wings.

When I'm outside my house, which isn't often, I look like everyone else. Well, except everyone else probably doesn't carry an engraved flask in their coat pocket. But that's neither here nor there.

Looking to my right I see some mid-aged cougar leaning over the bar, her breasts on display. She's trying way too hard to gain Alec's attention, but he's ignoring her attempts completely.

For some reason I find this immensely funny.

The laughter comes out of nowhere.

I haven't laughed in so long that sound is foreign and it takes me a moment to realize I am the one laughing.

Alec's blurry shape becomes larger as he walks my way.

I'm still laughing like a crazed maniac at the floozy down the bar.

"Hey, hey you!" I point at said floozy. "Sorry, but I think one of your tits just popped out of your shirt!"

My voice is way too loud, but the horrified expression on the woman's face makes it worth it. I can hear Alec's laughter nearby, and I smile cheekily, quite proud of myself.

I go to spin back towards the bar, having turned to yell at the cougar who has suddenly disappeared from the bar stool, but the room sways as I do so. My butt begins to slide off the stool, but I catch myself, just barely.

"Whoa there, you okay?"

Alec's concerned filled eyes are level with mine, and I just grin at him.

"You're sexy," I state pointedly, and I watch as he smiles warmly at me.

"And you've had too much to drink."

"It's a shame I'm broken. Otherwise I'd totally try to get in your pants right now."

My brain is telling my mouth to shut up, but it's not listening. My words are slurred together, and my vision is spotty.

How many glasses did I drink? How many shots?

By the look on my bartender's face he's trying to mentally count up my drinks as well.

I finish off the last of my glass and set it, more like slam it, on the bar top. "Fill 'er up," is what I think I say. At least it's what I meant to say.

Alec apparently speaks drunk because he pries the cup from my hands and shakes his head.

"I think you're done for the night Bella," he says, his voice full of authority.

This time I do slide off the stool and land firmly on my butt. Hard.

"Shit," I curse as I try to help myself back up.

There are hands helping me, but I swat them away. _I'm a big girl, I can do it myself._

"Bella, can you hear me?" a voice whispers nearby.

"What?" I yell in return.

My head is spinning, dipping, like I'm on a merry-go-round going way too fast.

"Bella!" The voice is more frantic now, but I can't respond.

_Round and round we go … where she stops, nobody knows … _

I'm singing in my head. It's only fitting considering how much everything is swirling around in circles right now.

It makes me laugh again.

_Round and round we go … down into a deep dark hole … _

The spinning stops.

It all goes black.


End file.
